


The Sorceress of the Woods

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Series: Fairy Tales for Foes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Female Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Forced Animal Transformation, Manipulation, Pied Piper-esque, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: The flute's rich, woody tones pull at something deep within that she'd forgotten was there.(It's familiar, achingly so.)Of course she follows. (She has no choice.)Repost.





	The Sorceress of the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Tommie is playing baroque flute, which sounds like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0T6KysSejQ). Listen while you read or come back afterward... whatever floats your boat.

"Get out, and stay out, you freak!" Harriet's red-faced whale of an uncle shouted, throwing a glass that missed her head by millimeters, which shattered against the wall as she fled through the front door into the early autumn evening.

"Vernon, we can't just throw her out on the streets!" her aunt Petunia protested shrilly. "People will talk!"

"I'll do what I bloody well like! The neighbors can piss themselves for all I care," Vernon snarled, and slammed the thin wooden door hard enough to create a shower of splinters. 

Harriet didn't look back as she pelted from the yard. She didn't need them anymore. She’d never needed them—not for all their loving indifference.

(Oh, but they would wish she were around to clean up the pile of glass shards, as well as any other incidental marks of their unfortunate existence. Such was the way of things.)

Harriet stomped along defiantly. She was seventeen now, a woman grown, and entirely unmarrigeable (too skinny, too strange, and too uninterested in eligible men, her aunt whispered, most of the villagers in apparent agreement). She'd go and live in the forest, dammit. She knew how to survive out there. God knew she'd spent enough time taking refuge from her cousin and his bastard friends under its heavy boughs throughout the years.

Harriet left the village of Little Whinging without fanfare, not sparing even a final glance for the place she'd lived ever since she could remember. She’d been here since her parent’s mysterious murder, or so the whispers went. Aunt Petunia never explained anything. Remus Lupin, with infinite gentleness, changed the subject every time Harriet dared bring it up—a far cry better than her aunt’s threats with a frying pan. All Harriet managed to piece together was that… well… her parents—especially her mother—were terrible people, whose sticky end was well-deserved.

No one in the square batted an eye as she swept past them, absorbed as they were in their own banal, everyday activities (haggling, arguing, and the like). She didn't mind. Neither Ginny and Hermione—her two best friends, nor the enigmatic Lupin were about. She'd find them later, maybe. The Forbidden Forest, the branches of its many trees spread wide in welcome, beckoned irresistibly. Who was she to ignore its siren call?

As she entered the forest, a distant sound reached her ears. She cocked her head, listening closely. Music, she thought. A flute, far in the distance. The flute’s rich, woody tones seemed to burrow deep into her chest, pulling at something buried within herself that she’d forgotten was there.

(Familiar, achingly so.)

Drawn by the music and the comforting dimness of the forest ahead, she began to walk. Leaves crunched pleasantly beneath her feet. A faint, autumn-laden breeze ruffled her hair and stirred the trees about her, carrying the scents of wood smoke and frost-bitten earth, making the far-off flute still more alluring. Crows called to each other from their perches, their hoarse cries a dark accompaniment to the idyllic beauty about her.

Harriet's stroll was interrupted by a harsh growl off to her right. She turned, startled. A large gray wolf lay with its forepaws wedged within the split trunk of an ancient-looking hollow oak, a heavy rock set atop them to keep it in place. The animal thrashed about, its back claws gouging out swaths of the debris-strewn ground. Foam dribbled from its open mouth, its amber eyes wide with panic. Harriet stared. Who on earth would be so cruel?

She crouched next to the wolf, far enough away that it couldn't bite her in its vain efforts to free itself. "Shh," she said. "Shh." A moment went by, during which she was certain the creature would not notice her. At last, however, it caught her eye. She hesitantly reached out. It stopped thrashing to gaze at her pleadingly.

"What happened to you?" she asked, doubting it would do much good to speak aloud—doing it mostly to calm her racing pulse. To her surprised relief, the wolf appeared to understand. It twitched its ears and shook its head disconsolately from side to side.

"I'll go see if I can find something or someone to help move that boulder off you," she said. "Will you wait for me?"

The wolf looked at her like, "Well, obviously. I can't do much else."

She chuckled at its expression. "Maybe whoever's playing the flute can help me," she mused. The wolf shook its head even more violently, as if trying to dissuade her, but what could possibly be wrong with going to find the musician who played with such skill? Anyone who made music like that had heart enough to aid a trapped animal.

Right?

Harriet walked on, the sound of the flute dragging her forward inexorably.

Another soft growl broke into Harriet's ambling. She turned to see a small red fox, hanging by its paws between two swaying saplings. Catching sight of her, the fox whined, attempting ineffectually to slow its swinging with its fluffy tail. Its wide brown eyes were desperate, an expression she was sure she’d seen before, somewhere.

"I think I can untie you," Harriet mused aloud, cautiously examining one of the knots that bound the fox's legs. They were like no knots she'd ever seen, fused almost seamlessly together so that there was no way to work them apart by hand. On a whim, she tried to will the knot loose, the way she'd done a bit when she was young and brimming with imagination. Nothing happened, except that her head began to throb; the knot remained firmly tied. Her aunt always said past successes were all tricks of the mind, but…

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, shaking herself to dislodge the bitter memories. "I haven't got a knife on me at the moment." In her haste to leave the Dursleys', she'd only had time to grab a cloak, though a knife—and a blanket, and a tent, and a bag of flour... damn, she hadn't thought this through—absolutely should have been a priority. "I'll go and find something," she promised, returning to the leaf-strewn path and leaving the fox keening behind her.

Surely the fox would be the last animal so abused on this trail. But no. To her dismay, Harriet spotted a hare, bound, if possible, in an even crueler manner than the other two. The hare had been made to run around the base of a tree, so that a piece of string about its neck became tighter and tighter with each revolution. Harriet wanted to throw up, wanted to rage at whoever had done this.

"Come back toward me," she coaxed gently. How the hare was still alive she couldn't imagine, yet it breathed, its paws scrabbling faintly, ears stiff. And its eyes...

"Hermione?" She wouldn't mistake that expression anywhere...

The hare did as she said, moving slowly around the tree in the opposite direction it had run, its gait unsteady and tentative. After about the third circuit, it collapsed in exhaustion. With a helpless sigh, Harriet carefully picked it up and brought it the remaining two times around. This done, she was able to slip the rope from about the animal's neck; it fell weakly panting into her arms.

"You are Hermione, aren't you?" she asked.

The hare nodded.

"That should have killed you," Harriet declared.

Hermione nodded again.

"There's a fox hanging by its paws between two saplings, back that way." Harriet pointed the way she had come. "Are you strong enough to chew through the ropes, do you think? I didn't have anything to cut with."

Hermione blinked fearfully.

"I'm pretty sure it's a person that was transformed, the way you were," Harriet added. (But it was impossible. Magic wasn't real, except in the stories told to terrify children! Yet here was the evidence before her.) "Could be... Oh god, it's Ginny..." And if the hare was Hermione and the fox was Ginny, then the wolf could be Mr. Lupin! No wonder Harriet hadn't seen any of them in the square. They'd been imprisoned in the forest by a heartless practitioner of the strange arts...

Hermione's ears perked up. She stretched her legs experimentally as Harriet set her down. "I'd go with you to help," Harriet began, "but I have to find out who's playing the flute." Saying it aloud brought the distant music back into focus, and she could think of nothing else so clearly. The hook lodged in her chest twinged. Hermione bared her teeth in anger, but why should she be mad? Ginny and Mr. Lupin could wait. The person playing the flute could help. ... Who was she kidding? She just wanted to hear them play.

(She had no choice.)

And onward Harriet went.

When at last she reached the source of the music, Harriet couldn't say whether it had taken minutes or hours, one mile or five. Her feet simply moved, her ears filled with the mournful composition, the crows now oddly silent in their nests.

A large clearing opened before her. (Quaint, she thought. It's really just like the stories.) A fire burned merrily within a ring of stones in the center, over which chestnuts roasted and a large pot of stew bubbled. At the sight of the food, Harriet's stomach rumbled, and it occurred to her that she hadn't eaten in hours. The Dursleys didn't do her the courtesy of offering a last meal—not that she'd expected one.

A woman stood not far from the fire near a knotty log, a dark wooden flute held to her lips. Her fingers moved lightly across the holes with seductive agility. As she played, her body swayed gracefully to the slow tempo, and she appeared completely absorbed. Harriet stared in wonder. The woman's hair fell about her shoulders in ebony waves. Her skin was a creamy alabaster. Her eyes were dark as the shadows at the clearing's edge. Sensing Harriet's approach, she looked up.

"Welcome," the woman said. "I have been waiting for you for a long, long time." She disassembled the flute and set it into a velvet-lined case. The dark, dulcet tones faded away into the twilight, much to Harriet's regret. The woman walked purposefully across the clearing, her heavy black cloak dragging through the leaves behind her.

"For me?" Harriet asked, suddenly fearful of the hunger she saw.

The woman nodded. "You heard my composition and came to me. You are... exactly what I've been hoping for." She gestured broadly about the clearing. "Now, come and sit, eat some stew, and tell me about yourself."

That sounded nice enough. Harriet followed the flute player to the log and took a seat, a bowl of stew thrust immediately into her hands (how had it been served so fast? She'd barely noticed the woman move.). The stew was absolutely delicious, with a wonderful mix of meat and vegetables and spices so savory that Harriet struggled to pace herself. "This is great," she said thickly through a mouthful.

"Thank you." The woman sat beside her, not taking her eyes away from Harriet's face as she ate. Harriet started to feel uncomfortable under the close scrutiny. A prickle of foreboding disturbed her, but she was starving and ignored it.

"So tell me," the woman began, "why did you come to my call?"

"I couldn’t help it," Harriet admitted, setting her spoon into the bowl with a clink. "You play magnificently. I've never heard anything like it in my life."

The woman smiled with delight at Harriet's praise. "Is that all? You didn't wish to learn the secrets of my art?"

"I'm not musically inclined," Harriet admitted. "Never have been. Learning to play was the absolute last thing on my mind."

"No matter. You could learn in time."

Harriet blinked incredulously. "I don't think so."

"They never let you try, did they?" the woman whispered, her lips brushing Harriet's ear, sending goose bumps racing down her arms—and Harriet was certain that she wasn’t talking about flute at all.

“I—” Harriet began eloquently. But the woman went on, curling one of her hands around the back of Harriet’s neck.

"Always denying you everything you asked for, calling you a freak for the impossible things that happened around you..."

"Wha— What is this really about?" Harriet said warily. "And how do you know about any of that?"

Instead of answering, the woman moved away to pour a mug of steaming cider, which she offered to Harriet. Harriet shook her head. Unbothered, the woman refilled a mug for herself and returned to her seat. "Tell me, my dear," she said after taking a long drink, "what sorts of things have happened around you that you couldn't explain, things that perhaps made you afraid, made others afraid."

"No— Nothing like that ever happened," Harriet protested.

"No? You did not once find yourself upon the roof of the community center when your cousin was chasing you? You did not once turn the schoolmaster's hair blue? And did you not, only moments ago, deflect the cup your uncle aimed at your head?"

There was more, of course. Like the time she'd somehow knocked Ginny out of the way of a panicking horse, even though she hadn't been close enough to reach her (Ginny kind of followed her around after that). But— "Who are you? How do you know any of this?" Alarm bells began ringing incessantly in her head. The dark-haired sorceress of the stories…

"You have nothing to fear," the woman said gently. "And you may call me Tommie, if you wish."

"Tommie," Harriet tried. It didn't quite fit. Anxiety clogged her throat.

"I was named after my father," Tommie explained impassively, observing Harriet's skepticism. 

“You have other names, don’t you?” Harriet whispered. “The Dark Lady, The Sorceress of the Woods…”

Tommie’s smile was absolutely delighted. “Indeed! I’m glad your mind is still open to the world’s greatest secrets.” She padded back to Harriet’s side, towering over her. "As for how I know so much about you... I see it in your mind. My power… is much like yours."

Harriet shook her head. "I don't have power. Everything that's ever happened was just a coincidence. Besides, when I tried to make something happen on my way here, it didn't work."

"Oh?"

"I tried to make a knot untie, and nothing happened, so obviously you're wrong." Harriet was on her feet now, ready to run from this place.

Tommie laughed. "That knot simply didn't want to be untied." She placed a hand on Harriet’s shoulder. "You most certainly have power, my dear. You are brimming with it. It's what led me here."

"My name is Harriet. I'm not your dear," Harriet snapped, disguising her fear with annoyance.

"Of course," Tommie replied indulgently. "Now then!" She steered Harriet back to her seat. "If I can prove to you that you do indeed have power, will you allow me to teach you how to use it?"

“I thought the Sorceress of the Woods traveled alone, killing all those who posed a challenge to her supremacy,” Harriet croaked. “Why would you want to teach a nobody like me?”

Tommie smirked somewhat ironically. "All in good time, child. Humor me for a moment, and I shall show you the true nature of power—mine and yours. Do you feel the breeze?"

Harriet considered. She'd assumed when entering the clearing that the wind had died down, but... The temperature resembled a cozy sitting room more than sitting by a fire outdoors in the fall. And she couldn't hear any of the forest background noise... "You did all this? You made it warm and silent here?"

"Very good." Tommie smiled, her hand rising to tenderly cup Harriet's cheek. Against her better judgment, she didn't pull away. Tommie's hand was cool and soft. Harriet couldn't help wondering how it would feel to kiss her.

Tommie held her other hand, pulling her to her feet and turning her to face the fire directly. "Put that out for me."

"How?" Harriet asked.

"Relax," Tommie whispered, "and know yourself." The last two words were spoken in a hiss, and something shot up Harriet's arm from where their hands met, pulling at her center, drawing forth a burning, raging power... that she recognized...

"Put out the fire," Tommie repeated coldly, and Harriet did. It was as easy as breathing.

"What was that?" she sputtered, panting. The clearing was dark and cool now.

"Sorcery," Tommie replied, relighting the fire with barely a blink.

"What—"

"Sorcery, my dear, is like an improvised symphony." Tommie leaned close, her jet eyes boring deep into Harriet's. "With it, you can do anything... Make the world tremble at your feet... Transcend all human weakness..." The fire rose, twisting into the frightening shapes of rearing serpents and slavering beasts that began to slither and prowl, though nothing burned at their touch.

"You can do this, and more," Tommie murmured, cupping Harriet's face between both hands and kissing her with that hunger she had glimpsed at the beginning. "So, so much more."

Harriet's mouth opened, and Tommie's tongue thrust inside. She tasted of chestnuts and mystery, and Harriet wanted, wanted— Her legs trembled, and she nearly fell to her knees.

Tommie pulled away with a chuckle. "We'll have more of that later. The amount of power you used tired you out a bit. Right now, let's get you a drink." She lowered Harriet back onto the log and handed her the cider she'd refused before. Harriet took hesitant sips, her trembling easing. The fiery creatures became just a regular bonfire once more.

The undergrowth at the edge of the clearing gave a loud rustle and three shapes crashed through. Harriet started so badly that she nearly dropped the mug of cider. Tommie, on the other hand, was livid. "How the devil did the rest of you get free?" she snarled, glowering at the wolf, fox, and hare who stood in a line before her. Harriet thought her eyes had changed to a smoldering scarlet, but she was fairly certain it was a trick of the light.

Oh no, how had she forgotten about them? Harriet lamented. Here she was, enjoying the fire and conversation and lessons in magic—especially since it was terrifying and a complete adrenaline rush, and there they were trapped... Her hands were shaking. She really did drop the cider this time.

"You did all that to them?" she cried. "Why? How could you?"

"Seems like they didn't have much trouble freeing themselves from their binding," Tommie said carelessly. "To which I would very much like them to return," she added, her teeth bared.

"But what the fuck did they do to deserve that kind of treatment?" Harriet raged, the edges of her vision blurring, a tiger roaring to get free from within the confines of her slight frame. The wind picked up sharply.

"Oh, dear, you are a beautiful sight when you’re angry,” Tommie said approvingly. “In answer to your question, all begged to learn flute from me. One asked so he could have a marketable skill. One asked out of vanity. One asked out of insatiable curiosity. As you can see, I rejected them all." Tommie smiled at Harriet, and oh, she was caught up in it... "their most grievous crime, however, was that none of them were you." Harriet felt a traitorous blush creep into her cheeks.

"These are friends of mine," she snapped, taking several deep breaths to calm her roiling magic. "Please change them back."

"No," Tommie replied flatly. "If you wish for them to be human again, then you will change them back yourself." Her eyes flashed an even brighter scarlet at this remark, and there could be no doubt this time. With that, Tommie vanished, all evidence that she'd ever been there vanishing with her.

Maybe this was a test, Harriet thought wildly, and if she passed it, Tommie would return. But no, she didn’t want her to return. Of course she didn’t. (She couldn’t, she couldn’t…) Hermione, Ginny, and Lupin were looking at her hope and horror. "I don't know if I can do it," she told them.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny bared her teeth in what must have been meant as an encouraging smile. Lupin's head and tail drooped in defeat.

"Okay, okay," she sighed. "I'll try..." Harriet took a few steadying breaths and recalled the feeling Tommie had drawn to the surface when she'd asked her to put out the fire. Then she remembered, with greater ease, the incandescence of her rage. Steeling herself, Harriet focused on what she wanted more than anything in that moment—

"Oh my god, she wasn't joking!"

At Ginny's shout, Harriet opened her eyes to see that the three animals were no more. Lupin, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting up, examining their bodies in relieved wonder.

"Thank you, thank you," Lupin gushed, getting up and shaking Harriet's hand. "Your mother would be so proud. She always wanted you to find your power. Although…" The defeated expression returned.

“What?” Harriet asked.

“She killed your parents, sweetheart.” His voice was remote. “I shudder to think what her ultimate plans are for you.”

Harriet’s head dropped onto her chest. "Of course she did. Why didn't you ever tell me—?”

"Petunia forbade it," Lupin said ruefully. "It was her only condition on allowing me to see you. I'm sorry."

Harriet sighed. “What’s done is done, now.”

Lupin nodded sadly.

"I knew you'd get us out of this somehow," Hermione said, smiling around at Lupin and Ginny in turn.

"Thanks," Harriet said, ducking her head at Hermione's praise.

"So, let's get that witch back for everything—killing your parents, transforming us into animals and leaving us for dead…" Ginny said. "Make sure she never comes back to screw with us again." Hermione nodded in fervent agreement.

"No," Harriet whispered. "No, we can't."

"Why not?" Hermione snapped. "You saw what she did to us. We've been your friends for years. Why shouldn't we get revenge?"

"She's too powerful," Harriet retorted. But she knew that wasn't everything. She had very little desire to try driving Tommie away, and the guilt was sickening. "Just go home," she said at last. “Just… Please go. I don’t know what she’d do if I tried to go back with you.”

The three looked at her dubiously. "Okay," Ginny said. "But you'd better find a way to come back, Harriet. You don't need to know what she can teach you, do you?"

"Probably not," Harriet admitted. “But that doesn’t matter to her.”

"Goodbye, then," Ginny said, looking ready to cry. "Let's go," she said to the other two. "I need a drink, like, five minutes ago." They left Harriet alone in the empty clearing. She had never felt so utterly abandoned.

"Well, my dear," Tommie said suddenly from behind her. "You made the correct choice. I would have killed them if you had chosen to follow.”

Harriet flapped her hand helplessly. "Why doesn’t that surprise me?"

Tommie pressed warmly against Harriet's back, her arms wrapping around her shoulders. "Now that I've found you, I will never let you slip away. Power like yours should not go to waste and be forgotten." She buried her nose in Harriet’s hair. “It would be such a shame if you stood against me, too. I’d have no choice but to kill you as I did your mother.”

Harriet wanted to flee and fuck Tommie senseless all at once. “I wish I’d known her. Why did you have to take her away from me?”

Tommie planted a kiss at the base of Harriet’s neck. “’Twas nothing personal, dear.”

“I don’t want to learn sorcery,” Harriet said flatly.

"Foolish girl. Foolish, darling girl," Tommie murmured. "With my help, you will be great. And together, we will be immortal. Must you pass that up?"

"I… You won’t allow me to do anything less than realize my full potential,” she replied in resignation.

“That’s right,” Tommie purred, pleased. “It isn’t as if you have much of a home to return to, so why bother fighting against a glorious future?”

“Fuck this and fuck you.” 

Harriet’s defiance only appeared to make Tommie happier. "I can show you the world, Harriet." She sucked at the skin of her neck. "I can show you the height of pleasure." One of her hands slowly ghosted downward.

"Okay, fine," Harriet said, turning around in Tommie's grip and kissing her roughly. "Okay, I'll go with you."

"Wonderful." With a rather unnerving smile, Tommie bore Harriet to the ground, her kisses heated and insistent. Her eyes were still red. "Mine," she hissed. "Mine... forever." Her kisses went lower, her fingers tearing Harriet’s skirts open in desperation. Harriet screamed her pleasure and her pain and her hate to the night. The crows cawed back angrily and flitted away.

"If I am yours," Harriet panted, "then you are also mine."

"Yes," Tommie crooned. "Equals we shall be, one day. But that day is not yet, child."

And she led her off into the night. The forest shuddered in their wake.


End file.
